This is it. The moment when I had to decide how much to trust them. I could give them the location, which would lead them to the crime itself and then they’d know who I’d been, before my family died. They’d see the shattered remains of my life laid out across their computer screens in illicitly gained police reports.

Then they would look at me differently. Pity would outweigh any respect I’d gained. But that wouldn’t bring them any closer to discovering the secret of my birth.

“Andersen,” I said at last. “About an hour north of the state line.”

Andersen wasn’t my hometown; it was just the latest in a series of relocations meant to keep us from being found, in spite of my mother’s insistence that my biological father had no idea I existed. We’d been in Andersen for six years, since my junior year in high school. That was the longest we’d ever lived anywhere, and my family had only stayed there because when I’d gone off to college, I took the target on my back with me.

In retrospect, the town made sense, as had all the ones before. Anderson had just over one hundred thousand residents. It was a big enough place that no one noticed or really cared when someone new moved into the neighborhood, but too small to hold any real interest for any of the major Skilled syndicates. The perfect place to hide in plain sight.

Until a random act of violence—a home invasion with no clear motive—had taken away everyone I’d ever wanted to protect.

The click of computer keys drew me back into the present, where several sets of eyes stared at me. Vanessa was still searching, and if she hadn’t found the news articles yet, she would soon. In a town the size of Andersen, the unsolved murder of almost an entire family was still big news.

“Is there anything else you think we should know?” Olivia asked, and I answered on my way up the stairs.

“Only that I want him dead. But first, I want him to suffer.”

Kris

When I stepped out of the upstairs bathroom, Van was waiting for me in the doorway to the room she and Kenley had shared. She tossed her head toward the door, silently asking me to come in. Which meant she didn’t want someone to know whatever she had to say.

I followed her into her room and pushed the door closed at my back, then sank onto Kenley’s side of the unmade bed, where Van’s laptop was open on the rumpled comforter. “What’s up?”

“I found her.”

“Kenley?” My heart thumped almost painfully.

“No. Sera and her family,” Van whispered, glancing at the closed door. “I found all of it, and it’s not pretty.”

“It’s the scene of a triple homicide.” Quadruple, if you counted the unborn baby, which Sera obviously did. “I wouldn’t expect it to be pretty.”

Vanessa tucked her feet beneath her on the rumpled comforter and pulled the computer onto her lap. She ran a finger over the mouse pad and the screen glowed to life, zoomed in on a news site I’d never heard of. “I just sent the link to Olivia so she and Cam could get started. But are you sure you want to read this?”

I scooted back to lean against the headboard next to her, angled so that my feet hung over the edge of the mattress. Kenley hated shoes on the bed. “I’m sure I don’t want to read it.” But I had to know. Whatever Sera was—whoever she was—this was the event that would shape the rest of her life, and I couldn’t know her without knowing what she’d been through. And I wanted to know Sera. Even if she no longer wanted to know me.

“Why don’t you just sum it up for me?” I let my head fall back against the padded headboard. “If you don’t mind.”

Vanessa shrugged and scrolled on her mouse pad, and I avoided looking at the screen. “It’s your basic home invasion, made more horrifying because we actually know one of the victims. Middle of the night break-in. One perpetrator, according to the police report. The only description they got out of Sera was ‘tall.’ Her dad was the only one still awake when it started, playing guitar in the family room. He must have heard something, because he was shot in the kitchen, through his own guitar. The ballistics report says the gunman used a silencer and facts support that. The neighbors didn’t hear anything and the mother never woke up. She was shot in her own bed.”

Chill bumps popped up on my arms. How much of that had Sera seen? How much had she heard?

“He took his time with her sister. Nadia. Poor thing was only eighteen. The police report says he slapped a strip of duct tape over her mouth while she was still in bed asleep, then dragged her into the living room and...well...took his time.”

Vanessa’s jaw clenched, and for a second she looked like she’d be sick.

I felt the same way. “Sick bastard. Eighteen and pregnant, and he—”

Van frowned at me. “Nadia wasn’t pregnant.”

“Sera said she was. Maybe the police didn’t know, if she wasn’t very far along.”

Vanessa blinked at me, and suddenly there was caution in her expression. Wariness. There was something she didn’t want to tell me.

“Just say it, Van.” Though I wasn’t sure I really meant that.

“Kris, Nadia wasn’t pregnant. She survived the initial attack, but died in the hospital the next day of a stab wound to the abdomen, without regaining consciousness.”

As I struggled to think around a thick fog of confusion—the truth was there, but it wasn’t sinking in—Van turned her laptop around so I could see it.